


Hard on the Knees (the What She Wants mix)

by Isis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied Draco/Harry - Freeform, Remix, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-20
Updated: 2003-05-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2648858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis/pseuds/Isis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pansy Parkinson knows what she wants.  And she's willing to endure a lot in order to get it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard on the Knees (the What She Wants mix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hard on the Knees](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/84149) by Reena. 



> Written for the Rescribo! Remix fest.

He doesn't know it, but she knows what he wants. 

She knows what she wants, too. And she knows that she won't get it, if he gets what he wants, but she knows he can't have what he wants anyway, so she lowers her eyes and smiles, lets him force her to her knees and rip off her shirt, lets him think that he's in control when he growls and bites and shoves his cock in her mouth. 

Because Pansy Parkinson wants to be Pansy Malfoy. She's not in love with Draco; she is a pureblood of one of the best families, and purebloods don't marry for love. In that, she knows more than Draco does, because Draco is too arrogant for his own good, and he secretly believes that he can do anything, anything, anything he wants. It's his birthright, his legacy, he thinks. What a fool he is, she thinks. She sees him in Potions class, surreptitiously watching green eyes and black, messy hair, his tongue flicking unconsciously at his lower lip. If his father knew. If his mother knew. 

If her parents knew. "Why, of course," her mother had said, smiling. "A Malfoy would be a brilliant match." Her mother had gone on to talk about guest lists, and catering, and bridesmaids, but the glint in her eye revealed that it had not been Pansy's idea after all. Her mother had been Slytherin, too. 

Her father had talked to his father, and then one day Draco had come to her, sneering. "I'm not going to tie myself to something I haven't tested first," he had said to her, and she lifted her chin and said, "Well, then?" And his eyes darkened, and he pulled off her clothes and pinned her roughly to the bed. She fought him only slightly, because she knew the value of her virginity, but he knew it too, and refused to take it. But he took her, just the same. He explored her body with tongue and teeth and grasping fingers until she came, screaming; she stroked him as he asked, as he demanded. When he spurted across their bodies, his eyes were empty. 

"You'll do," he said, but his eyes were empty. 

She'll do, and she does, whenever and wherever he demands it: in a broom closet, or on her own bed, or behind the stands right after the Slytherin-Gryffindor game. Each time he becomes more violent, wrenching her arm behind her so hard that she fears it will come out of its socket, dragging his pointed fingernails so roughly across her skin that she fears it will scar permanently, fucking her mouth so forcefully that she fears she will suffocate. 

But her worst fear is that she will not be strong enough to endure. For endure she must, if she is to get what she wants. What he wants is for her to break, to say that she can't, to tell her parents, "I'm sorry, but I will not marry Draco Malfoy." If she does that, he wins. 

She does not want him to win. 

Their children will be beautiful, and powerful, and strong. She will be shown to the best tables, given the best service, feted at the best parties, envied by all. They will live in a mansion, in a palace, in a castle hung about with gold and silver and gems. And if he takes a lover then, a lover with black hair and slim hips and a scar on his forehead and a cock to match his own, what is it to her? She'll have what she wants. 

So she waits. And she waits for him to leave her, tumbled on the floor half-conscious and covered with blood and semen and her own desperate salt tears. When he is gone, she speaks quiet healing charms over her torn flesh, scrubs his semen from her hair and her skin. A perfect pureblood lady never lets the marks show. She allows herself to slip back into unconsciousness, then, into dreams of a lover who would touch her gently, reverently; who would smooth back her hair instead of yanking it roughly, who would whisper sweet things into her ear instead of silently thrusting into her mouth. 

Maybe it's Draco she dreams about. Maybe it's another man, or even another woman. She's not really sure who it is, and it doesn't matter, really, because one way or another she will get it eventually. When the ring is on her finger and the names are set down on the Ministry scroll. When he comes in her body instead of on it, and her children and their patrimony are assured, bound by laws stronger than desire, and magic older than laws. 

All she has to do is wait, and endure. She knows what she wants. She'll get it, one day. 


End file.
